


Nothing But The Truth

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, No Angst, Oral Sex, Rumbelle Revolution, Smut, also Rumple being a bit of a creeper, and Belle going for what she wants, dark castle smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8674408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Belle has grown surprisingly fond of her strange master in her months at the Dark Castle.  When their relationship hits an awkward moment that threatens to take him from her side, she decides to offer him a deal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A week or so ago, someone on tumblr asked why I hadn't written any Dark Castle smut. And I was awake at four this morning, so it seemed appropriate to think of some. So here it is. No angst! Woo hoo!

It had been a few months since the deal had been struck with her father and the other knights, the safety of the town in exchange for her servitude, and Belle found that she was pleased with the bargain she had made.  She had her chores to do, of course, but these had seemed lighter and less frequent by the day.  For all that she and Rumplestiltskin were alone in the wide expanse of the Dark Castle, it was almost as though the place cleaned up after itself, leaving her to the less onerous chores of making tea and folding laundry.  Even hanging out the bedclothes was something she no longer had to do; she had put down her book one day to heave the heavy laundry basket outside, only to find that the sheets were already blowing in the early spring breeze.  She had asked Rumple about it, and he had merely sniffed and said that sometimes magic got out of control.

“All the more reason for you not to poke your nose in where it doesn’t belong!” he had added, with an air of menace that wasn’t even remotely convincing, but she had pretended to be intimidated, just to make him feel better.

He was away at present, gone off to some distant land to make one of his deals, and Belle found that she missed her strange master.  When he forgot about trying to be the dark and terrifying creature that everyone else had conjured in their minds, he was surprisingly pleasant company.  He was extremely intelligent, well-read and interesting to talk to.  He even enjoyed a little verbal sparring with her, and she suspected that he was as surprised as she was that they got on as well as they did.  Surprised and a little unnerved.  At times, she wondered why he had even asked for her at all, given that he spent so much time away from the castle, but she felt that he was lonely.  Perhaps it was something as simple as having something other than his gold and his magic and his spinning wheels to come home to.  Perhaps, deep down, he knew that she wanted nothing more from him than for him to hold up his end of the bargain they had made.  Everyone else that he dealt with seemed to have an ulterior motive, and she could see the weariness behind his eyes when he saw it, and when they thought they had been clever enough to hide it.

He returned that evening, seemingly pleased with the deal he had made, almost dancing into the great hall and throwing himself into his chair so that she could serve him tea.  She pressed him for details of his adventures, and he told her tales of the sea kingdom run by King Triton, the merman, and his many beautiful daughters.  Belle listened with round eyes at his descriptions of the undersea caves and the treasures they contained, and he watched her with a tiny smile on his face as she excitedly asked him question after question about the merfolk.  

After dinner they mounted the stairs to the library and took up their usual positions: Rumple at his wheel, Belle on the chaise longue with her legs curled under her and a book open in her lap.  They said little to one another; after an hour or so Belle served tea, and when they had drunk their fill he poured them each a brandy, warming the large bowls of the glasses over candles before adding the fragrant amber liquid.  Belle drank hers slowly and with pleasure, breathing in the heady fumes as she read.  She stifled a yawn behind her hand; it was getting late, and the brandy was making her sleepy and lightheaded.  The gentle, hypnotic squeak of the spinning-wheel stopped, and she looked up from her book.  Rumple was lighting extra candles with a taper, the darkened room filling with a soft glow, and she slipped from the chair and approached him silently on bare feet, putting her hand on his arm and making him start.  She bit her lip in amusement.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said quietly, and frowned slightly.  “What are you smiling at?”

“You jump whenever I touch you,” she said, with a grin.  The brandy had made her a little giddy and flirtatious, and she leaned towards him, her smile turning wicked.  “Sometimes I wonder what you’d do if I kissed you!”  

She giggled, amused at the startled expression on his face, and turned away.

“And how would you react if I kissed you?”

Still smiling, Belle turned, a playful retort on her lips, which died as she saw the serious expression on his face.  His voice had lost its playful trill, the sing-song lilt of the Dark One, another mask he tried to hide behind.  He simply sounded like himself, in the few brief moments when he had let his guard down, when he had almost let her in.  He sounded like an ordinary man.  For a moment they simply stood, their eyes locked, their breath the only sound beside the crackling fire.  He moved towards her then, step by halting step, his hands reaching out to her, fingers sliding over her hips, tightening on them and slowly drawing her closer until she was within inches of him.  She felt an unfamiliar tug of desire deep within her, and almost gasped, her eyes widening at the shock of it.  Her senses were heightened; she could clearly see the individual gold flecks glistening on his skin, could smell the warm spicy scent of him, hints of cedar and cloves and black pepper, along with a faint muskiness that was all his own, that she had smelled on the shirts that he sent to be washed, burying her nose in the soft silk and breathing him in.

He lifted his hands to cup her face, his thumbs sliding under her chin and tilting her head upwards, his fingers brushing her cheeks.  His breathing had deepened; she could feel the coolness of it on her brow, and her own breath quickened in response, her heart thumping.  His eyes were black and gleaming in the candlelight, deep wells alight with the promise of forgotten treasure.  She sensed then something within him, buried deep, something dark and ancient and forever, and felt a tiny, inexplicable thrill of fear.

A small voice inside warned her to pull away, but she ignored it; she wanted him to kiss her, _needed_ him to kiss her.  Her lips parted as he drew closer, her heart thumping hard as his fingers slid into her hair, the blood pounding in her head.  She was trembling, her breath coming in tiny gasps, and she felt her body melt against him as he pressed his lips to hers.  Her arms slid around him as the kiss deepened, his lips pushing hers apart to explore their inner softness, his tongue gently parting her lips and stroking against hers.  She could taste the cool fire of the brandy in his mouth, and his right hand cradled her head while the other moved down her shoulder, down the bare skin of her arm, his touch burning her.

His arm encircled her waist, crushing her against him, making her moan, and he pulled his mouth from hers, trailing his lips down to the hollow at the base of her throat.  She whimpered at the loss of his touch as he drew back, but he kissed her again, pressing his forehead to hers as their lips parted.  His hands left her body and fumbled at the buttons of his waistcoat, and he shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor before drawing her closer once more.  Long fingers reached for the laces of her bodice, pulling slowly at the bow until it fell apart, then he lowered his mouth to hers as he gently began unhooking the laces from their tiny loops.

Belle’s heart hammered in her chest.  Everything she had been taught told her this was wrong, that she shouldn’t be doing this, that she should only allow this once she was properly married, but then other thoughts crowded in, drowning out her self-criticism.  After all, who was there to condemn her?  No doubt they all thought she had become his whore on her first night of being here.  In any event, she had promised him forever; was she to spend an eternity without any sort of touch?  And she _wanted_ his touch, wanted him to teach her, to do those things to her that she had read about and for which her mind could barely form pictures.

He let her bodice fall away, pushing it from her shoulders and revealing the sheer linen blouse beneath, and she pushed her fingers through his soft hair, rewarded by his gentle groan.  His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs stroking over her nipples, the weave of the linen scraping gently against her tender skin, making her gasp and press herself against him, his skin burning her through the thin silk of his shirt as his lips pulled at hers.  His hands dropped to the fastening at the waist of her skirt, pulling open the laces and letting the soft linen pool at her feet with her petticoats, leaving her clad only in the blouse and her stockings, held up with delicate lace garters.  He pulled back to look her over, a low growl coming from him, a sound of raw desire that made her heart thump, and his hands stroked up over her thighs and the curves of her hips.  The hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her tight as his lips found hers, his tongue stroking, and she ground herself against him as they kissed, making him gasp into her mouth.  She could feel him, hard against her belly, her need for him a deep ache low in her abdomen, certain that she wanted something from him but not entirely sure what it was.  She let her head fall back and he bent to kiss the dark hollow between her breasts, his mouth trailing back up her neck to her ear, making her shiver with pleasure.

“My beautiful Belle,” he whispered, his lips tugging her earlobe.  "Oh, how I want you!"

“Oh, Rumple,” she murmured.  “Rumple, I want – “

“You’re talking in your sleep, dearie.”

Belle came awake with a start, eyes springing open and her book falling to the floor with a loud thump.  He was still seated at the spinning wheel, his hand slowly turning it as he watched her with a small, amused smile on his face.  She blushed to the roots of her hair, hoping he would not notice in the dim light.

“What did I say?” she asked nervously, and he shrugged.

“My name.”  

His smile widened, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he said nothing further.

“Well then.”  She stood, brushing off her skirts.  “If you don’t want anything more, I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Sweet dreams,” he said kindly, and she smiled awkwardly, collected the empty glasses, and left the room.

Once in her room and changed into her nightgown, Belle sat before her mirrored dresser, preparing for bed.  She was shocked at herself, firstly by the vivid quality of the dream and secondly by its content.  It wasn’t as though she had never been kissed before, of course, but compared with Gaston’s clumsy hands and rough embraces, her dream had been…  She blushed, imagining Rumple’s touch, the feel of his lips on her neck.  She knew that she was attracted to him, had known for some time that he was a better man than he would have everyone believe, but she had not expected that.  She brushed out her chestnut hair slowly, blushing anew at having talked in her sleep in his presence.  He had not realised what she had been dreaming, of course, but she had still been embarrassed.  She knew that he liked her; she caught him watching her at times with a tender expression on his face, and she certainly liked him, but she was not certain that she loved him, not yet.   _Fool!  You’re not even being honest with yourself,_ she thought wryly.

 

00000

 

It was past midnight, and the moon was shining brightly through the thin curtains of Belle’s bedroom. Rumple cradled his cup of tea and gazed down at her as she slept, one white arm above the silken coverlet, a strand of chestnut hair curling across her face.  He wanted to reach out and brush it back, to tuck it behind her ear, and found that his hand had stretched towards her without him realising it.  He took a step back and Belle twitched and sighed in her sleep, making his heart lurch.  She had mumbled his name in her sleep earlier, followed by something he hadn’t been able to make out, and had blushed prettily when he woke her.  A small part of him hoped she had been dreaming of him, not that that was likely.   _Not unless she was having a nightmare,_ he thought sourly.  He knew that he shouldn’t be there, lurking in her room like the grim, malignant creature he was, but couldn’t resist the chance to gaze upon her unobserved for as long as he wanted, as if some tiny fragment of her grace and beauty would seep into his soul and make his world a little less terrible.

Her lips parted slightly as she breathed and he smiled tenderly.  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, pure of heart and soul, her light shining brilliantly in the dark solitude of his life.  He had foreseen that her father would call upon him for help and had known at first sight that he wanted her, that she would be the price he would ask.  And yet, since she had arrived at the castle he hadn’t been able to foresee another thing about her.  It was equal parts frustration and intrigue and he hesitated to think about what it might mean.  He drained his cup and made it disappear back downstairs.   _A few minutes more._ She moved in her sleep, rolling onto her back…and blinked.  Instantly he was outside the room with the help of a swirl of magic, his hands and forehead pressed against the door, breathing hard, his heart pounding.

 _Idiot!  Stupid, moronic, lovesick, blind idiot!_  He silently cursed himself, wanting to bang his head against the solid wood of the door.  There was a soft thump in the bedroom as he heard her get out of bed, and then the gentle pad of her feet on the floorboards as she approached. It was time to go, time to take himself back to his tower and immerse himself in the most complex spell he could think of just to rid his mind of thoughts of her.  It was almost as though he could hear her breathing, the two of them separated only by the seasoned oak, and he listened to her hands running over the wood, feeling the closeness of her.  It was _definitely_ time to go; things would be awkward enough in the morning with her suspecting that he’d been watching over her sleep like a fucking obsessive, without her opening the door and confirming it.  Time to go.

“Rumple?”  Her voice floated through the door, and it was almost as though it wrapped around him and held him in place.  “I know you’re there.”

 _Oh, fuckety bollocks!  So much for avoiding awkward breakfast conversation._  He sighed, wanting to bang his head against the door again.  A deal, perhaps?  Someone must need one.  Preferably as far away from here as possible.  Needing several days away from the Castle.  Yes.

“It’s almost…”  She hesitated, and he imagined her teeth tugging at her lip, the way she did when she was thinking.  “It’s almost as though I can _feel_ you.  Does that seem strange to you?”

“No,” he whispered, but under his breath.  She would never hear it.  He should go.  He should really, really go...

“Rumple.”  He could hear her hands sliding over the wood again, fingertips slipping into the curves and hollows of the carvings.  “Rumple, would you please come in here?  Please?  I have a confession to make.”

A confession?  He pulled back from the door, frowning.  What could it be?  Had she touched something in his workroom?  Broken something?  Perhaps she had been reading some of the darker magical texts - against his _explicit_ instructions - and had hurt herself somehow.  He began running over the possibilities in his mind, all the potential ways that she could come to harm in his castle without him even being aware of it, and was in the middle of calling himself every insulting and degrading name he could think of for putting her in danger, when the door swung open.

His eyes widened at the sight of her.  Belle was in her white silk nightgown, the dim light of the single lamp at her bedside shining behind her and silhouetting her body.  He could see the curves of her waist and hips, the slender length of her legs that had always been hidden by the skirts she had worn, and he ran his eyes upwards, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the shadow of her cleavage beneath the loosened laces of the nightgown.  Hurriedly, he flicked his eyes up to her face, but that was almost worse; she was staring at him with those huge eyes of hers, eyes that seemed to see into the depths of his blackened soul.  Her lips were full and moist, her cheeks a little flushed, and she reached out with one pale hand towards his chest, making him start back.  A tiny smile made the corners of her mouth turn upwards, and she dropped her hand to grasp at his, fingers curling around to grip him tightly.

“Please,” she whispered, and gently tugged at him.

He found himself walking into her bedroom, his mind screaming at him to stop, to pull away, to _poof_ himself back to his own bedroom and spend the night trying to cure his need for her by excessive amounts of whisky and self-abuse.  Her hand was very warm in his, and she took a step closer to him, the door closing behind him with a low, faintly ominous _clunk_.  The light was dim, and he waved a hand, making the lamp by her bedside glow more brightly, filling the room with its warmth.  Belle raised her chin, and he could sense nervousness in her, but she met his eyes.

“I - I want to make a deal with you,” she said, and he blinked, pulling his hand free.  He could still feel a tingling on his skin where she had touched him.

“Alright,” he said, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth.  She chewed her lip.

“I want - I want you to tell me the truth when I ask you a question,” she said.  “Just for tonight, just - while you’re in here.”

He blinked again, rapidly, consternation making him twitchy.  What the hell would she want to ask him?  Still, if it was only for one night, and only while he was in her bedroom…  That couldn’t do any harm, surely?  If constrained by the proper caveats.

“What - what are you offering in return?” he asked, his voice hoarse, and she smiled a little nervously.

“I offer you the same,” she said.  “Ask me anything at all, I will answer truthfully.”

An equal bargain, on the face of it, he supposed.  Dependent on the questions asked, of course, but the offer itself, the price to be paid; he couldn’t argue with that.

“May I add one condition?” he asked, and was amused by her narrowing eyes.  “Whatever is discussed in this room stays here, and cannot be divulged to anyone.”

Belle gazed at him for a moment, and nodded.

“That seems reasonable,” she said, and he felt a thrill go through him, an opportunity to learn something about her.

“Very well,” he said, twirling his fingers in the air.  “The deal is struck.”

Belle felt his magic settle over her, the weight of the promise she had made suddenly making it hard to breathe.  She let out a tiny gasp, and he watched her with wide, anxious eyes too large for his face.  He seemed uncertain whether to touch her or not, but as he hesitantly reached for her she shook her head, indicating that she was fine.

“What…”  He licked his lips, a brief, nervous flick of his tongue.  “What did you want to ask me?”

She straightened up, raising her chin.  In her bare feet she was noticeably shorter than he, but with the deal they had made, she felt more his equal, more able to ask him something without fearing that he would avoid the questions, or make a joke of it.  She decided not to be in the least bit subtle; it was late, after all.

“Do you like me, Rumple?” she asked, and his eyes widened.

“Of course,” he said immediately, and then stood there, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief.   _Well, at least_ that’s _out of the way._

“Well, I like you too,” she said, which only made him look more astonished.  “You can ask me one, if you like,” she added, and he finally closed his mouth with a snap, stepping back on one foot as though he was afraid of her.

“Very well,” he said, with a touch of his old, snide tone.  “Are you - are you happy here, Belle?”

She blinked, surprised at the question.  “Yes!” she said eagerly.  “Yes, I wasn’t expecting to be, but I love it here!  I just wish…”  She trailed off, unwilling to elaborate on the question he had asked her.

“What would make you happier?” he asked, and she felt a wide smile spread across her face.

“If I could speak to my father, let him know I’m alright,” she said.  “If I could travel with you, and see some of the lands you go to, and all the wonderful things you encounter.  If…”  She swallowed what she had been about to say, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“If what?” he asked softly.

She wanted to shake her head, distract him with her wish for a dog to keep her company when he was away, but that was not what had been in her mind when she was answering his question, and the magic of their promise bound her to the truth.

“If…”  She took a breath, looking up at him as though challenging him.  “If you kissed me.”

Rumple almost stumbled back from her, his arms flying out to the sides to regain his balance.  His mind was whirling.   _Kiss her?_

“What?” he asked desperately, praying that he’d misheard, and she took a step towards him.

“It would - it would make me happy if you kissed me,” she said, her cheeks flushing prettily.  “Do you - do you _want_ to kiss me, Rumple?”

“Yes!” he rasped, and almost clapped his hand over his mouth in horror.   _Bloody fucking useless fucking magic!_  Why the hell had he agreed to this honesty deal?  Belle’s smile had widened, a hint of smugness in there, of _knowing_.  It only made her more beautiful.

“Good,” she whispered, and he swallowed hard.

“Belle,” he said softly, and she stepped closer, almost touching him.  Her chest was heaving with her breath, and he tried to keep his eyes on hers, to keep his thoughts from the things he wanted to do to her.  Things he _couldn’t_ do to her.  Not without hating himself ten times more than he already did, anyway.

“What…”  He cleared his throat, trying to stop his voice from going high and squeaky.  “What were you dreaming about?”

Oh _that_ made her pause!  She rocked back on her heels, the tip of her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips, her blush deepening.  But then she squared her jaw, her strength, her fire, returning.

“I was dreaming of you,” she said then, her voice low and filled with the sort of promise that he could only imagine.  He felt his heart thumping in his chest, the blood surging in his veins, in his loins.

“Go on,” he whispered, and she tilted her head up to gaze at him, the gleam of lamplight shining in her eyes.

“I dreamt that you kissed me,” she said softly.  “That you unlaced my bodice and my skirt and pulled me to you.  That your hands cupped me _here_.”  She covered her breasts with her palms, and he bit back a moan.  “That you kissed down my neck and said I was beautiful, and that you wanted me.  And I realised that I want _you_ , Rumple.  That we’re both lonely, and we don’t have to be.”

His breath was coming hard in his chest, his skin feeling unnaturally tight, and could barely believe what was happening.  Perhaps he had fallen asleep too.  Perhaps they were both still in the library, the fire burnt down to embers as they slumbered apart from one another, united only in this dreamworld.

“Do you want me?” she whispered.

“Yes!” he hissed.  “But I - I _can’t_ , Belle, don’t you understand?”

“No.”  She shook her head, and inched closer, her hands reaching out to sit at his waist, above the heavy red and gold brocade of his waistcoat.  “I don’t understand.  You want me, and I want you.  Why can’t you?”

He hesitated before answering.  She was looking up at him, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her full lips parted, waiting for his kiss, and he wanted her, so, so much.  He wanted to kiss her and feel her body against him, to strip the clothes from them both and lay her down in the bed and kiss every inch of her.  To slide inside her and make her his for all time.

“Because I’m afraid,” he said eventually.  “I’m afraid that this is all a trick, that your town’s request for help with the ogres was a ruse.  I’m afraid that you’ve been thrown in my path as a spy, as a smiling assassin who will learn my secrets and win my heart and then go back to whoever hired you, leaving me broken.  Leaving me dead.”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it clearly wasn’t this.  She sucked in a breath, and shook her head, and he was surprised to see tears well in her eyes.

“I would _never_ do that,” she whispered.  “We made a deal, Rumple.  I promised you forever, was that a lie?”

“No,” he said softly.  “No, it wasn’t a lie.”

She nodded, and her fingers trailed up his sides, her touch a gentle tickle against his skin.

“Then will you make me spend forever without being touched?” she asked.

He hesitated again, desire for her burning through him, making him hard and tense, his muscles quivering beneath the silk shirt he wore.  She was staring at him, her chest rising and falling with the force of her breath, the force of her life, and he could scarcely believe that she was there, wanting him.

“No!” he growled, and reached up to cup her face with his hands.  

Her skin was flushed and smooth, and he ran his thumbs over her cheeks, fingers sliding into her hair.  She was almost panting, her eyes wide and dark, and he tried to quiet the screaming in his head as he lowered his mouth to hers.  Her lips were soft and warm, and he gently swept across them with the tip of his tongue, making her open her mouth.  His tongue slipped inside as he pulled her closer, and Belle’s hands slid up his back, tugging him tight against her.  It was hopeless.  He was lost.

Belle clung to him, her heart thumping with excitement at the taste of him in her mouth, like strong tea, spice and salt.  His fingers had left her hair, trailing down to slide around her waist, and she moaned as he pulled his mouth from hers, kissing down her neck, just as he had in her dream.  Excited, she fumbled for the buttons of his waistcoat, wanting to feel more of him, to get rid of the tiresome clothing between them and feel his skin against hers.  He made a sort of strangled noise into her mouth, and she sighed to herself.  Really, for a 300-year-old supposedly dark sorcerer, he was incredibly skittish.  He pulled back, looking at her with wide amber eyes, and she took the opportunity to push the waistcoat from him, the gold silk shirt clinging to his chest.

“You said you were going to touch me,” she reminded him, and he blinked once or twice before bending to kiss her again.  It took a little manoeuvering on her part, but eventually she pulled him towards the bed.

“Unlace me,” she whispered, and had to smile as he reached for the laces of her nightgown, his hands shaking.  It was strange: she didn’t feel nervous at all, although this was all completely new to her, and it couldn’t possibly be new to him.  It felt right, though.  It felt as though this was what she was meant to do.  Be with him.

The laces came undone, and he slipped his thumbs under the gown at her shoulders, pushing it slowly down her arms until it sipped off to fall at her feet.  His mouth fell open, and he took a step back, running his eyes over her.  It felt odd, to stand naked in the presence of a man, but she trusted him.  This would have been what was expected of her on her wedding night, after all, and in her old life she would have faced that with nothing but contempt for the man her father had chosen for her.  This, though.  This was _her_ choice.  She had chosen Rumplestiltskin.

Rumple was in awe of her.  Oh, he had known she was beautiful, of course.  He was a collector of beautiful things, after all, but he had tried not to think of what she might look like naked.  It made it too difficult to concentrate, and yet here she was, standing before him with a smile on her perfect lips, all her pale perfection there for his eyes to feast on.  Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, ending some way above the pale mounds of her small breasts with their delicate pink nipples.  His eyes followed the hollow of her waist and the slight curve to her belly, broken only by the dark shadow of her navel.  Her hips were round, her legs shapely and long, and he felt his eyes drawn to the triangle of dark curls at their apex, the sight of her awakening something in him, something dark and feral.  She reached for him then, slender fingers curling around his and pulling him with her.  Pulling him to the bed.

“Belle!” he whispered raggedly, and she shook her head, pushing her fingers through his hair.

“Touch me!” she breathed, and kissed him, pulling him down into the blankets with her.

There were mutterings in the dark of his soul, snarls and screams that this was bad, that she was dangerous, a pretty distraction sent to pull him from his true course, but he blocked them out.  He had centuries of practice of doing that, after all, and he was in no mood to listen to inner voices trying to pull him back to the darkness.  She was there and she was real and she was kissing him, her hands tugging at his shirt and trying to pull it from the tight leather pants he wore.  

With a flick of his fingers he made the pants and boots disappear, and gasped as he felt her warm skin against his, her hands sliding over the silk shirt he still wore.  He wasn’t sure why he had left it on, only that he hated himself and the way he looked, and he had thought that surely she wouldn’t want to see any more of him than she had to.  To his surprise, however, she was unbuttoning the shirt, pulling it open to reveal his scale-covered skin, glittering grey-green and gold in the light.  She pushed it back from his shoulders and down his arms, and he used another tiny plume of magic to whisk it away to his bedroom, leaving him naked.  She let out a noise of contentment, running her fingers over his chest.

“Your skin is so pretty,” she whispered.  “It shines in the light.  It’s never the same, no matter how many times I look at you.  Why don’t you like it?”

He hesitated, perched on his elbows above her, his body pressed to hers.   _Curse this wretched deal!_

“It’s a reminder of what I am,” he said at last.  “And of what I once was.  Of what I’ve lost, in becoming this - thing.  A reminder that I’m a monster.”

Belle smiled, shaking her head, and reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb sliding over his lip.

“No,” she whispered.  “No, you’re not a monster.”

She kissed him, and he let himself melt into her, his tongue stroking against hers, his hands sliding down to cup her breasts.  She moaned into his mouth as he squeezed, as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples, and he broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down her neck to suck on her pulse point.  Belle moaned, arching up into him, and he moved lower, breathing in her scent, that light fragrance that had bored its way into his mind and ensnared his senses ever since she had set foot in his castle.  She was intoxicating, and he groaned as he kissed lower, moving over the swell of her breast to take a nipple in his mouth.  Belle made a high, keening sound, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at it as he suckled at her, his tongue swirling and scraping against the hard nub.  He let it slip from his mouth, taut and puckered and glistening in the light, and kissed his way across to the other, his tongue circling it before his lips fastened around it, loving the feel of her in his mouth.

He pulled his mouth free, kissing down over the flat of her belly, pausing to slip his tongue into the hollow of her navel as he made his way lower.  Belle was still carding his hair with her fingers, still moaning in pleasure, and he gently pushed her legs apart as he settled himself between them, breathing in the scent of her.  To his surprise, she was very noticeably aroused, fluid gleaming on her soft nether lips, and he used his fingers to part her curls, almost panting in excitement at the thought of tasting her.  She rose up off the bed with a sharp cry as he swept his tongue over her, the flavour of her bursting across his tongue.  Groaning aloud, he settled himself more comfortably, his cock pressing against the bedclothes, aching to be inside her.  It would go better for her if he did this, though.  If he gave her pleasure first.

Belle could hardly process what was happening.  She had dreamed of this moment - quite literally at one point - and here she was, with the Dark One - with _Rumple_ \- between her thighs, his tongue doing things to her that she hadn’t even read about.  It felt incredible, though, his tongue hot and wet and soft against her, the way that he would run it over the sensitive spot right at the top of her cleft.  She knew what this was leading to, of course.  She knew that he would take her fully, and she wanted it.  Let her be soiled and ruined in the eyes of her people: she didn’t care.  Quite why sleeping with someone made a woman dirty, she had never been able to understand, and had never received a sensible answer when she had asked.

His hands clutched at her hips, his tongue swirling in circles, and she let her head fall back with a moan, stars massing in her vision, dancing against the bedroom ceiling.  She could feel an unfamiliar fire building in her, flames crackling and snapping and racing across her skin, wanting to burn her to ash.  Her moans grew louder, the tension building, her muscles tensing, and he was licking and licking and his hair was brushing against her and it was too much, too much, and she had to…

Belle rose up off the bed with a cry of pleasure, the stars bursting all around her as she thumped back down.  He was still licking at her, groaning his own pleasure, and she could feel tingles and shocks running over her skin, her cheeks on fire as she gasped for breath.  His tongue ran over her, even pushing inside her, but she was a little too tender, and she tugged on his hair, making him raise his head to look at her with an anxious expression.  The sight of the all-powerful Dark One between her legs, face shiny with her juices, made her want to giggle.

“I’m alright,” she said gently.  “Just a little sensitive, that’s all.  That was wonderful.”

He smiled then, and kissed his way back up her body to gaze down on her, a look of adoration in his eyes that almost made her want to cry.  How lonely had he been?  How many years had he spent alone, thinking no one could want him?  She touched his cheek, letting her fingers slide into the curls of his hair, still sticky with her fluids.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, and his voice had changed, the shrill sound of the imp completely gone.  It was low and soft with a gentle burr, and she wondered if that was what he had once sounded like.  Before the Dark One.

“I’m sure,” she said.  “I want this.  I want _you_.”

She could feel him, hard against her leg, and she knew what to expect in that regard, the mechanics of it.  She had been told that much when her father had made her accept Gaston’s proposal; the women in the kitchens were surprisingly open about such things if asked.  Some of them had warned her that it might hurt, but she trusted him.  He smiled, and bent his head to kiss her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, salty with her own pleasure.  His hand slid down her body, reaching in between her legs to touch her, and she let out a tiny moan as he stroked her wet flesh, the tip of his finger easing inside her.  She kissed him more fervently, and the finger slid all the way inside her, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing over that sensitive nub again, making sparks dance over her skin.

She pushed herself against his hand, wanting more of him, and he let the finger slide in and out a few times before adding a second.  That felt different, as though she were being stretched, but it was pleasant, and she gasped into his mouth and swiped her tongue against his, pushing her pelvis up into his hand.  He growled something under his breath, slipping his fingers from her and fumbling between them to grasp at himself.  She could feel him then, the hard heat of him between her legs, and she wondered how it would feel, how _she_ would feel.  How it would change things.

Rumple could hardly believe what was happening, the feel of her writhing beneath him and the taste of her mouth the only things anchoring him to reality.  He lined them up carefully, praying that he wouldn’t hurt her.  He had considered a spell, but he hadn’t wanted to use one without her consent, and doubted that she’d let him anyway, so he was trying to be as gentle as he could, and hoping for the best.

The feel of her against his cock was exquisite, the heat of her, the silky wetness coating him.  He was still amazed that she actually _wanted_ him, that the proof of her desire was there in her eyes and her mouth and deep between her thighs, and he wanted to show her how much he wanted her, wanted to kiss every inch of her if she would let him.  He met her eyes, her pupils dark with lust.  She was panting, her chest heaving, her lips full and glistening with his saliva, and he realised with absolute clarity that he was completely and utterly in love with her.

She sent him a tiny smile, her hand brushing his cheek, and he swallowed hard, pushing gently, easing inside her.  She threw back her head with a gasp, and he stopped immediately, but her fingers tugged at his shoulders, and so he moved again, sinking deeper, sliding into her.  There was a moment when he thought he was all the way inside, but she shook her head, pushing up against him with a tiny cry, and suddenly he was bathed in her, buried in her, surrounded by her.  He was almost out of his mind, the scent of her, the _feel_ of her, making him feel as though he was in a dreamstate, unconnected from the rest of the castle and the lands around it.  It was almost as though he had become part of the wider space encircling the forest, one with the stars and the cold moonlight.  Then she moved against him, and he was dragged back into the fires beneath the earth, into burning, scalding heat that stole his breath.

He kissed away the few tears that had formed in her eyes, and pressed his forehead to hers, his nose nuzzling her.  She captured his lips with hers, hands raking his hair, her legs pulling up to allow him deeper, and he began to thrust, groaning into her, his hands caressing her face, her breasts, dipping into the hollow of her waist and pulling her tight against him.  

Belle was lost in him, lost in his scent and his heat and the weight of him upon her, in the press of his lips and the hard, thick feel of him, and the sounds he made as he pushed deeper inside her.  It was everything she had wanted, this closeness, as though she was connected to every part of him, and she tightened her legs on his sides, running her hands over his shoulders and through his hair, moaning as he hit her just right.  This was how things should be.  This was what she wanted.

She kissed him again, but he pulled his mouth away for a moment, stroking her hair tenderly, his eyes filled with devotion.  She had moved her hands to his back, and she could feel the muscles there, tight with strain.  He shook his head, his lower lip wobbling.

“Oh Belle!” he whispered.  “Belle, I can’t hold it!  I have to!”

“Do it!” she breathed, and he thrust into her once, and again, letting out a loud groan as he pulsed inside her.  The feel of it was wonderful, and she pumped her hips against him, bringing herself to the brink and crashing over it with a cry of release.  He continued to thrust, tiny movements that made his hips pump in time with his moans, and eventually he slowed, letting out a long, sighing breath, and pushed his face into the hollow of her shoulder, letting his body relax down on hers.

She stroked his hair, feeling the soft curls tangle in her fingers, breathing in the scent of his fresh perspiration, tasting his salt on her tongue as she kissed the top of his chest and ran her tongue up his throat.  He chuckled, the bed shaking with it, and raised his head to stare at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Well, well,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and she noticed that a touch of the imp was back in his voice.  She didn’t mind that, though.  She loved every part of him.

“Please tell me you’re not going to poof back to your own room in some misguided attempt to protect my virtue,” she said severely, and his eyes widened.

“I think not,” he said.  “I believe that we’ve reached - a different stage in our relationship.”

“You always were observant,” she said dryly, and a broad grin spread across his face.

“Perhaps I could poof _us_ to _our_ room,” he suggested, and she beamed at him.

“In the morning,” she agreed.  “You can bed down with the servant for tonight.”

“Very well.”  He grinned at her, eyebrows twitching again.

“Besides, under the terms of our deal, we only have to be honest with each other in this room.” she added.  “I’d like to continue that honesty, it seems to be most beneficial.”

His lips twitched, but he shrugged.

“I could always alter the terms,” he said.  “For a price.”

Belle almost giggled.  “Let’s open negotiations,” she said, a little breathlessly.

“My Lady,” he murmured, and slipped down the bed again.


End file.
